#manka's friend fiction

[avigilantthrust]

A New Friend

Surprise it’s fan fiction. It’s short, and also my first posting any fanfic to tumblr. I would ask to go easy on me, but honestly if it makes you chuck your device in disgust that is valid.  

Anyway, this is during KotFE and just a headcanon I have about my JK and Theron. Please enjoy!  

“No time to talk, gotta go.” That was all Theron Shan heard from Leah Randrea aka his girlfriend as she rushed past him, as well as most of the Alliance, with a mysterious blanket bundle. A part of him considered leaving well enough alone, finding out later tonight what enthralled the Jedi’s attention. However, he couldn’t shake his innate curiosity as to what was in the that small blanket and why it required such urgency. So, he shut his terminal off and quietly slipped out of the war room and headed towards their... well her room. By now it had become routine that every night ended with him and her curled up in the same large bed. As Theron entered, he saw the Alliance Commander crouched next to said bed while making a bizarre ‘pspsps’ sound.

“Uh, what are you-“ he started but was quickly interrupted.

“Shh! Come here.” She waved him over. Cautiously, he walked over and knelt next to the Jedi and peered under the bed. A set of golden eyes stared back at him.

“I found a cat.” She said, answering a question he hadn’t even asked.

“Don’t you mean a loth cat?”

“No, a cat.”

“Like a manka cat?”

“Just a cat, look.” She stretched her hand out and made the same ‘pspsps’ sound. The creature seemed to creep further toward her fingers, but paused as Theron shifted his feet. It was a small thing, with a shaggy tabby coat and clearly malnourished.

“I saw it rummaging around in a dumpster and I just couldn’t leave it, y’know?” She said as she rhythmically drummed her fingers, trying to get the cat’s attention.

“Yeah.” He replied, a small smile growing on his face at the thought of a fearsome Jedi Knight chasing this cat.

“Please tell me this was after helping Leeha?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t endanger an animal like that.” Well, thank the Force for that, though the image of her with cat in hand taking on the Zakuulan Empire forced him to stifle a chuckle.

“Why don’t you try?” She gestured to the cat.

“And do what?”

“See if she likes you.”

“She?”

“Trust me. Just let her sniff your hand.” Theron had better things to do, both of them did. Yet there he was, taking off his gloves and reaching his hand into the darkness under the bed in the vain hope this animal didn’t bite his fingers. He observed the cat gingerly sniffing, its nose flaring. Then, it crept forward and licked his index finger. At first, Theron wanted to recoil but also figured that a sudden movement like that would be more traumatic to the cat than his own reservations. Instead he slowly pulled his arm back out and let the cat follow.

“Aww, she does like you!” Leah cooed.

“Yeah right.” Theron said, before the cat rubbed its--no her cheek on his thigh.

“I told you.” The Jedi muttered as she reached out to pet the cat.

“I’m keeping her, by the way.” She added. The cat had now curled up next Theron’s leg and was actually purring.

“Good.” He smiled.

[sinsbymanka]

One more for @pookydraws! This is actually a gift from @tessa1972 who donated to RAINN and then donated the commission to Pooky! I love you both and thank you for being so supportive of each other and all of us! This smutty drabble features Pooky’s Sarita Amell and King Alistair Theirin! 

Do you want your own fluffy and/or smutty drabble? I’m still accepting donations through Ko-fi for RAINN! I met my goal BUT you can still donate there and hit me up anywhere to let me know what you’d like! You can also donate and receive your drabble anonymously. I will not post your name or tag you in the post.

Title: The King’s Reward Pairing: Female Warden/Alistair Theirin, Female Amell/Alistair Theirin Rating: E Content Warnings: Post Dragon Age Origins, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex Read on AO3

Alistair knew there were less pleasant places that Denerim in the summer. Abandoned crypts. Swamps. The Korcari Wilds. Anywhere that served Orlesian cuisine exclusively. Orlais in general.

Yes. There were certainly worse places to be than the sweltering heat of Ferelden’s capital city. But it was certainly hard to remember that when he’d taken off everything except his own skin and still felt like he’d stepped into mage fire.

He reclined on the chaise, rubbing the back of his palm across his nose, and frowned down at the near illegible tiny print blurring before his eyes. Andraste, he’d been at it for hours. He had to be nearly done.

Alistair cast a despairing glance at the stack of papers on the floor, the rest of his newest Antivan trade treaty. Then he pinched his nose, hard, and sunk further into the plush material.

It was Sarita’s favorite chair. He’d hoped sitting on it would help him channel some of her focus, but so far he’d been disappointed. He just… wasn’t as good as the minutiae as she was. Frankly, the fact Ferelden didn’t fall into chaos as soon as she rode out of the capital city was a miracle sent from the Maker himself.

But she had a duty. They both did. She fought the blight, for both of them, because he’d had to forsake his oaths for a crown. His sword languished in a training yard, his crown fit ill upon his head, and Sarita…

Sarita was his mistress instead of a queen like she should have been.

It had been the right thing for Ferelden. The only thing to do, really. That didn’t mean it didn’t sting. Though things were changing. The situation in Kirkwall was becoming tenuous, proving the Circles didn’t work. Once that keg exploded, and it was about due to at any moment, it would be a matter of time until the established systems fell down around his ears.

He’d be ready. They’d defeated the blight, after all, and once the old rules were gone…

Well. It was a pleasant daydream. Much more pleasant than Antivan trade treaties, in fact. He tossed the paper to the side and laid his head back, luxuriating in the faint breeze that stirred the curtains. He closed his eyes and conjured Sarita’s azure eyes, the blonde hair tucked behind the curve of her ear.

She’d be back soon. He couldn’t wait.

------------------------

Alistair didn’t know how long he slept, but the soft sound of movement drew him from heavy, blissfully dreamless, sleep. Even after years, his gut reaction was to freeze and hone in on the small noises, searching for danger while keeping his eyes closed. He heard the rustle of silk. The splash of water.

Then he felt thin, staff calloused fingers tracing over the hard planes of his muscles.

“Sleeping on the job, your highness?”

He chuckled, stretching his arms above his head before opening his eyes. Above him, Sarita returned his crooked grin with one of her own, walking her elegant fingers down his chest.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He rumbled.

“Not as much as you were.” Sarita’s expression shifted into a wicked smirk, searing hot gaze dropping down his body.

That was the moment Alistair remembered he was snoozing away in all his Maker-given glory.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t a servant.” Sarita added, eyes twinkling.

“Maker’s breath. I’m lucky you weren’t Oghren.”

“Oh, he was with me. I’d say you struck him blind, but I’m not sure he noticed.”

Alistair laughed. “Sounds like Oghren.”

Sarita hummed a muted agreement, her eyes trailing down his revealed skin. Cheekily, Alistair snatched her fingers from his chest and brought them to his lips, kissing the tips while he held her gaze.

“And have I struck you blind like the Revered Mother always said would happen?”

“Not yet.” Sarita purred, leaning over him on the chaise. “Have you missed me?”

“Endlessly.”

Joy sparked to life in her eyes. She brought her lips closer to his, leaning in to whisper against them. “And is this our treaty with Antiva?”

“It is.” He replied, pious as possible. It was made difficult because his sleep addled mind had finally caught up to look beyond Sarita’s stunning eyes and the golden fall of her hair.

His lover wore a simple silk robe, the pale material almost sheer in the late afternoon sunlight. She smelled of lavender, clearly already washed up after her arrival. The loose tie of the robe let it fall just right so Alistair could trace the swell of her breasts.

“It’s all done?”

“Just needs a final stamp. Got to read through it and make sure they didn’t put me dancing naked in the town square as one of their…”

Alistair lost his train of thought watching Sarita capture her plump lip between her teeth, peering at him through her long lashes. His breath caught in his chest as her finger drifted lower, scratching at his abdomen with blunt nails. His cock twitched with interest, beginning to swell between his thighs.

“Maker’s breath. You’re beautiful. I’m still a lucky man.”

“Working hard and compliments?” Sarita questioned. “It sounds like someone has earned a reward.”

“I have behaved myself. Ask anyone- oh Maker.”

Sarita’s quick fingers pulled the knot in her robe and it fell from her shoulders like Andraste herself was unveiling her most glorious masterpiece to the world. Alistair pushed himself up, eager eyes darting over her exposed flesh. The curve of her waist, the fullness of her hips, and those breasts.

Andraste herself didn’t have a nicer pair of breasts. Alistair knew. He’d been shoved in front of many statues of the blighted woman.

...not that he’d been looking at Andraste’s breasts.

Before he could fall further down that train of thought, Sarita settled herself on the opposite end of the chaise. One firm, strong hand pushed him back into a reclining position, her smile absolutely wicked. The kind of smile that always heralded the best activities.

“I know just the thing to show my appreciation.” Sarita purred, running her hand back down his body. His cock, fully erect, bobbed as she trailed her teasing touch up over his stiff length. He watched her smile grow predatory.

“Just enjoy, love. Allow me.” She whispered.

Truly the only thing he could think to say was a prayer of gratitude for the lovely creature in front of him. Sarita stole the words out of his mouth by dropping her pink lips to the tip of his manhood, pressing a perfectly filthy kiss to the tip.

Alistair swallowed, hard, and brought his hand up to cup the soft skin of her cheek. She leaned into his palm while her quick tongue darted past those tempting lips to lick a stripe down his length.

Alistair grit his teeth together, blowing his breath through his nose. It’d been too long, she’d been gone too long, and he wasn’t going to last. “Sarita…”

“I know.” Her own voice was husky with desire, blue eyes molten with it. “Thank Andraste for Warden stamina, right?”

“It’s a perk.” Alistair breathed. One of the few, but he’d take it. And her. He was certainly going to take her thoroughly before the evening was over.

She smirked, wrapping her long fingers around the base of his cock and opening her mouth.

Warm. Wet. One of Alistair’s hands threaded gently through Sarita’s hair, the other roughly grabbed onto the delicate upholstery of her chaise. His back arched, although force of will kept his hips steady while Sarita swallowed his length in her hot, willing mouth. Years of habit meant she took him easily almost to the hilt, the hand wrapped around his base stroking what she couldn’t take comfortably.

Those sharp eyes looked up at him again and Sarita squirmed between his legs. He could smell her own desire, heady in the air, as she bobbed back up his length. His cock slipped from between her lips and she placed another kiss on it’s tip before diving back down.

Someday, she was going to kill him and Alistair wouldn’t even complain. His moan of approval rang out in the silent room while his fingers stroked through her soft hair. She felt… Maker, she felt fantastic.

Then her tongue swirled around him and he hissed, knuckles gripping the chair going white. “Sarita.”

She made a noise of approval that vibrated around his length and he moaned again. That only emboldened her to devour him with relish. Her teasing tongue danced over his throbbing shaft, she hollowed her cheeks to suck him deeper into her mouth.

Alistair’s hand trembled. Fire ignited in his spine, traveling down to his groin. He clenched his jaw, trying to stave it off, until Sarita’s eyes found his again.

He was lost the second he saw the matching heat in her gaze. With a groan of defeat, Alistair surrendered to the pleasure she coaxed from him. His head fell back, something buzzing in his ears as his cock swelled further before everything went white.

Searing white. Hotter than anything he’d ever touched.

He came back to himself in pieces, panting and slick with sweat, Sarita’s fingers swirling patterns over his thighs. He huffed a small, choked laugh that was matched by her giggle.

“Missed you.” She admitted softly, resting her head on his thigh.

“Only cause you love me.” He murmured.

“I do. Very much.”

His heart melted in his chest and he looked back down into her angelic face. “Good. Cause I’m quite mad for you.”

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you so much @zuendwinkel​ for donating! I am SO GLAD to add this lovely Hawke x Fenris to the collection, writing them was a joy! I’m also SO EXCITED to share the artwork you created that goes along with it! Thank you so much for blessing us with something so soft, beautiful, and detailed!! 

I’m not longer accepting RAINN Commissions but you can see the ones that are already finished in this series on AO3. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Title: A Flock of Trouble Pairing: Male Hawke x Fenris Rating: T Content Warnings: Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Dragon Age II, Fluff and Angst, Reunions

Read on AO3

Broody,

Listen. We got into a bit of a situation in the Western Approach. Fell tits over ass right into the Fade. I wish I was shitting you. Do you remember those giant spiders outside Kirkwall? They’ve got nothing on fade demon spiders. I have had enough of the whole thing for the rest of my life. Hawke took off with the Wardens to tell Weisshaupt that their whole fighting force is at risk of being controlled like finger puppets by an ancient magister. I got the worse job of telling you where the fuck he was going (Remember, don’t murder the messenger. Who else would get you that wine you like from Tevinter?)

He said not to follow him. Doesn’t want your Broody arse that close to Tevinter, I expect. I’m fully aware you’ll be going anyway. Take the note attached to my solicitor and get some coin to tide you over. Don’t get captured by slavers. Try to lie low.

When you see Hawke - ask him what happened in the Fade. Somebody needs to kick some sense into his ass. You’re the best person for it.

Sincerely, Varric Tethras

P.S. I’m adding the money Hawke lost to me to your gambling debts. Wicked Grace soon?

Weisshaupt appeared as foreboding and desolate as Fenris had expected. 

Sun-bleached stone soared into a clear, burning sky. Walls meant for defense rather than appeal ringed a fortress that looked as if it could withstand an archdemon itself. If Fenris remembered correctly, it had survived at least two. Perhaps three. 

Of course, if Garrett Hawke were there currently, it may soon fall into the blighted land surrounding it. That did seem to be the man’s luck.  And if Garrett Hawke wasn’t there, Fenris would hunt him down, if only to give the man the tongue lashing he richly deserved. 

In truth, Fenris felt uneasy. The Tevinter border at his back reminded him of the last time he’d been so far north. He’d been running then, as fast as he could go, a desperate chase that led to Kirkwall, an empty box, an abandoned mansion and…

And Garrett Hawke. 

Fenris remembered clearly everything that happened after he met Garrett. He had spent hours examining the path he took with a cynic’s wary gaze, looking for the moment it had all changed, the second he stopped running and made a choice. 

A choice that led him here, to the edge of the world, chasing instead of being chased. 

“What business do you have here?” A rough voice barked. It belonged to a woman, old for a Warden, her long brown hair braided neatly down her back. Her hand rested easily on the hilt of the sword on her hip with a warrior’s preparedness. But her stance was casual. Eyes alert and pleasant. There was no whiff of danger here, not for him at any rate. It did not quite reassure him, but there was no reason to reach for the blade on his back. Yet.

“I am here for the Champion of Kirkwall.” He informed the guard politely, wrapping the reins around his fist while he smoothly dismounted. 

The woman rocked back on her heels, a started, humorless laugh slipping from her lips. “The Champion of Kirkwall?” 

Fenris’s heart sunk, but he kept his face impassive. He could not help the way his gauntlets tightened on the leather bridle. “He is not here.” 

“Oh no! The blighted fool is still here. Are you here to take him back to wherever he came from? Cause I’d be grateful, Serah. May even slip some coin in your pocket.” 

Something broke inside him, a fever finally easing. Fenris had been traveling for longer than he wished to recount, and had not allowed himself to consider the end of the journey or who he wished to find there. 

“Where may I find him?” 

The woman opened her mouth to reply, but whatever response she meant to give was cut off by an unholy clatter and what sounded like a small explosion. Her expression darkened and she jerked her thumb to a thin trail of smoke rising above the walls. 

“Wherever there’s trouble, typically.” She sighed. 

Fenris knew Garrett far too well to disagree with that statement. 

The smoke smelled of herbs Fenris recognized, elfroot chief among them, and it was billowing from within a stable of all things. Soldiers, Fenris assumed they were Grey Wardens, stood with various expressions of shock, dismay, and annoyance. 

The nobles in Kirkwall wore the same looks the day Garrett knocked over six of the merchant’s stalls in Hightown. He’d been chasing a dog, who was chasing a street urchin, who was trying to catch a nug with a kitten in it’s mouth. 

Maker only knew how Garrett had gotten roped into the whole thing. 

Fenris simply remembered the chaos unspooling below him from his perch on the steps and that bubble of emotion that rose up in his chest while he chuckled ruefully and Isabela cheered. He hadn’t known what to call that feeling, not then, not watching Garrett retrieve the kitten and present it to the street urchin while the rich nobility stared in bewilderment. 

But when he saw Garrett in the stable doors, waving his arms like a windmill to disperse the smoke, Fenris felt it again. This time he knew its name.  

Joy. 

Knots loosened in his chest. Only to be replaced by a sharp spike of annoyance more than a match for the cloud of irritation hovering around Garrett. 

Except, of course, Garrett was impervious to the mood. He cast his dark eyes around the courtyard, flitting right over Fenris in his search for something. Then, a half second later, sliding back to where he stood. 

“Fen!” Garrett shouted, a joyful grin splitting his face. “You’re here!” 

Garrett bounded away from the smoking door, arms swinging. He wasn’t in armor, wasn’t armed, and a part of that struck a chord that made Fenris both wary and wistful. When was the last time Garrett had abandoned his armor around strangers? 

Garrett stumbled to a stop in front of him, arms out, waiting while his eyes dragged themselves over every inch of Fenris’s lyrium lined face. 

“You’re really here.” Garrett whispered. 

Almost as if he thought he’d never see him again. 

“Yes.” Fenris snapped instead, jerking his chin at the ancient fortress. “I have, once again, followed you to the edge of civilization.” 

At least Garrett had the good grace to look contrite. “I mean. They do have that wine here you like.” 

“It is more easily obtainable this close to Tevinter.” 

Garrett winced. “I told Varric to tell you-” 

“It was too much trouble to write to me with your own hand?” 

That made his lover recoil. Garrett did not grab for him, although he lifted his arm, fingers outstretched in silent plea. “Fen that… that wasn’t it at all. There was an army of demons. Giant spider. Marching across the blighted desert. Griffon eggs…” 

“Griffon eggs?” Fenris repeated, incredulous. 

Garrett’s whole face brightened. “Griffon eggs! I swear on the Maker’s hairy asscheeks, Fen, you won’t believe-” 

Fenris swallowed his anger and shook his head. In one movement, he turned on his heel and stomped away from the human with his beaming smile, warm eyes, and new wrinkles from sorrow on his forehead. 

It was always safest to walk away when he did not know whether to slap Garrett or kiss him, after all. 

Garrett found Fenris on the battlements while the sun was dipping below the western horizon. He stood, awkward and yet endearing, cradling a large white object gently in his arms. On second look, it was indeed the largest egg Fenris had ever seen. 

“I should have written.” Garrett murmured. “I… wasn’t thinking clearly.” 

Fenris did not pull his eyes from the pink and orange sky. “That is hardly unusual.” 

Garrett chuckled to himself, shifting his weight from side to side. “Fair. But… it was bad, Fen.” 

He knew it must have been. Varric would not have mentioned it otherwise. “Do you wish to tell me about it?”

“Yes.” Garrett sighed, placing the egg tenderly on top of a crate. He rested one large hand over it before casting a baleful look at Fenris. “But not tonight. Tonight I’m just… I’m just fucking thrilled to see you. Even if you’re fuming.” 

“I am not fuming.” Fenris stated on instinct. 

Garrett grinned. “Ah. Is this brooding then?” 

Fenris’s lips twitched. “I do not brood.” 

“Not even a little bit.” Garrett stepped closer, holding his arms out with a shy, uncertain tip of his lips. “I missed you.” 

Fenris pushed himself away from the warm stone. For a breathless second, the two men looked at each other. Garrett’s eyes shimmered with emotion, an expression torn between longing and hope. 

Fenris stepped into the man’s embrace and allowed himself to be tugged towards his broad chest. His sword rough fingers yanked on Hawke’s hair immediately, scowling into the grinning face. 

“You are a fool, and I am a worse one for loving you.” 

Garrett laughed, ducking down to press an eager kiss to Fenris’s lips. Fenris closed his eyes, drifting on the sparking heat between them, the way the world settled back into place. Garrett smelled of home, of warm hay, leather, salt and sun. 

They broke the kiss, but clung to each other as Garrett pressed his forehead to Fenris’s. 

“Griffon eggs?” Fenris finally asked.

Garrett smiled. “My newest adventure, Fenris. Much better than the last one, I assure you.” 

Fenris simply sighed and melted into his lover’s embrace under the burning sun. As with most of Garrett’s adventures, it would be nothing but trouble.

Fenris found he did not mind much at all.

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you so much @princessvicky01 for donating! I loved the opportunity to write Cullen pining over your lovely Annabel! And I always love writing Varric being snarky and awesome. Thank you!

I’m not longer accepting RAINN Commissions but you can see the ones that are already finished in this series on AO3. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Title: A Minx by Any Other Name Pairing: Cullen Rutherford/Female Inquisitor, Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford & Varric Tethras  Rating: T Content Warnings: Pre-Relationship, Mutual Pining, Varric offering advice Read on AO3

Like a natural disaster, sometimes the signs of the Inquisitor’s arrival appeared before Varric saw the woman herself.

First, all the sound seemed to fade out, sucked from the world itself. Then, just as suddenly, it erupted like a menagerie of chirping birds infested the courtyard instead of the finest and most boring Orlesian nobility.

Finally, Varric’s whole operation came to a screeching halt. The quill of the scribe on his left went suspiciously silent. The solicitor over his shoulder stopped blathering. Varric held out another sealed message to the messenger on his right but it remained in his hand instead of being whisked away.

He waited one heartbeat. Another. Then he lifted his eyes to take in the spectacle himself.

He’d always preferred his ladies closer to his size, and highly unobtainable regardless, but he could see the attraction.

Annabel Trevelyan had a presence. He watched with a biographer’s critical gaze as the Inquisitor shared a smile with one of the gardeners, offered her own crisp salute and a cheerful grin to a soldier, then let out a peal of laughter at some private joke Dorian made at her elbow.

It wasn’t like Varric was going to actually write a book about the Inquisitor. He’d only done the first one about Hawke because… well, it was Hawke. Minx didn’t need an author to explain her life or her actions when everything she touched turned to gold.

Except maybe, someday, she would. And if she did, who better to capture her than one of the people at her side through thick and thin? Through horrible forest and equally desolate deserts?

Who better to write her than a friend?

If that was the exact argument he used to convince himself to write Hawke’s story, he’d never admit it.

Instead, he coughed politely until his messenger turned their attention back to him. Varric waved the message in his hand, lips twitching.

“Sorry messere.” The kid said, flushing pink. “Will there be anything else?”

“We’ll call it a morning.” Varric offered, waving away the other two members of his crew. They dissipated in a moment, leaving Varric alone with his thoughts and observations.

And with no distractions, he was able to notice all the brilliant details of the courtyard. The flock of Chantry sisters knitting in a corner. One of Nightingale’s spies slipping along the gabled rooftops. The Commander of the Inquisition standing, slack jawed, in the door of the chapel with his eyes fixed on their Inquisitor.

Just what the story he definitely wasn’t going to write needed. A romance.

Varric closed his ledger and stood, ambling over to the human. “Nice day for a morning, isn’t it?”

His joke flew right over Curly’s head. The human wrenched his gaze from Annabel. “Varric. Yes. Good morning.”

“Crazy idea. But have you ever considered… talking to her?”

“To who?”

The blushing gave Curly away. Varric fought to keep his expression from outright smugness, settling for a mild amount of self-satisfaction instead.

“Minx.” Varric jerked his head towards the Inquisitor’s retreating form. “I assumed you’d met in all those fancy war meetings, my mistake. Should I introduce you?”

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen rubbed at the splotchy red creeping up his neck. “I speak to the Inquisitor all the time.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.” Varric could have laughed. “Too much talking.”

“The Inquisitor is a lady of noble birth. I would not sully her reputation.” Cullen sounded as prim as his old Orlesian tutor, a stern grande dame of impeccable pedigree.

Humans.

“She’s always excited to get your letters in the field.” Varric offered.

Tension bled out of Cullen’s shoulders. His eyes sparked with something like hope. “My reports?”

“Not sure why.” Varric let out a long suffering sigh. “Grabs them right out of the scout’s hands. And she’s got a Fine Dwarven Storyteller right there, but she devours your reports.”

Which were dry as dry could be, in Varric’s opinion.

“She is dedicated. To the Inquisition.” Cullen replied smoothly.

“Sparkler said he’s caught her reading them at night. In her tent.”

Cullen nearly choked on his own saliva. Varric had forgotten how much fun meddling was.

“In fact. You should take her up to that big desk sometime where you write them. Explain your storytelling technique. I’m sure she’d be enthralled.”

“She visits my office often.” Cullen murmured forlornly, watching Annabel vanish from view back into the castle.

“Oh? Does she now? Should I be taking notes?”

“On business!” Cullen protested quickly, glaring down at Varric.

Varric didn’t return the heat of his irritation. Instead he offered a small, sad smile of his own. “Maybe consider making those visits a bit less business like, Curly. Before the world actually ends?”

Varric knew that flash of fear in the other man’s eyes well. “I can’t. I shouldn’t. She is...”

Varric didn’t bother to contradict the Commander. He knew better than most that ‘I shouldn’t’ meant less than nothing in affairs of the heart.

“She’s waiting for you to make a move, Curly.” Varric advised. “And she’s not a woman I’d keep waiting long.”

He clapped the stunned human on the elbow before ambling away, whistling an old song under his breath. He needed his journal and a quiet place to write.

Inspiration had struck regardless of his thoughts on the matter.

[sinsbymanka]

Giveaway Winner Announcement!

We’ve got our winners!

Third Place: @kemvee, who gifted her prize to @novamm66! 

Second Place: @natsora

First Place: @lethendralis-paints, who gifted the winning prize to @kourvo!

Thank you everyone for participating!! I’m excited to work on fic for our winners!! 

[sinsbymanka]

The 2nd place fic winner has also received their gift! 

Thank you @natsora for introducing me to your Inquisitor Trev and her beautiful, sweet relationship with Cassandra. Also - thanks for letting me practice my whump skills because not many people appreciate them XD 

And thank you to the lovely @corylion for introducing us and nominating Natsora! 

Title: Endurance Chapter: 1/1 Pairing: Female Trevelyan/Cassandra Pentaghast, Female Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast Rating: M Warnings:  Graphic Depictions of Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Whump, Broken Bones, Blood Word Count: 2,697 Summary: A mission to explore ancient Elvhen ruins with her team leads to a fight for Trev's life. In the end, all she can do is endure until they can make it to her side. 

Read on AO3!

Trev is reminded, oddly, of Val Royeaux. The walls surrounding them stretch upwards as far as the eye can see before vanishing into inky darkness. Through that blackness, she can just make out the shape of curling vines, a canopy of green much like the silk ribbons high above the famous Orlesian marketplace.

She wonders what this ancient, Elvhen place looked like in its prime. Did it glitter and bustle? Was it silent and holy? What kind of people waltzed through its halls? Were there only penitent sinners come to pray to their Creators, or did people come to celebrate their lives?

The ruin itself gives precious little clues. The halls are silent but for the sound of their footsteps. The only sign of life is the rustle of their clothing and armor, the rasp of their breathing.

“Do you know what I thought this morning when I woke up, Chuckles?”

Trev’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t laugh. Cassandra scoffs, a barely there sound on her left.

“I’m afraid if I wondered what you were thinking often, I’d have more questions than answers,” Solas sighs.

Varic continues, undaunted, while they tromp through the dark hallways. “I thought to myself ‘you know what I haven’t experienced yet? Getting mauled in a musty old Elvhen tomb.’”

“This is not a tomb,” Solas corrects wearily.

“Yet,” Varric grumbles. “Let’s make sure we don’t die here before we make assumptions.”

Cassandra clears her throat pointedly. “You did not have to come.”

Varric shoots a look over his shoulder that manages to blend the perfect amount of unconvincing innocence and wicked humor. “And leave you three without Bianca covering your asses? If something happened I’d never get over it.”

Read on AO3!

[sinsbymanka]

All my complicated headcanons live rent free in @tuffypelly 's head 365 days a year and honestly that makes me cackle like an evil witch.

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you @queen-kass-the-writer for letting me write your Kass Trevelyan/Sebastian Vael pair! I am WEAK for Modern!AU’s in Dragon Age so I enjoyed this one!

Do you want your own fluffy and/or smutty drabble? I’m still accepting donations through Ko-fi for RAINN! I met my goal BUT you can still donate there and hit me up anywhere to let me know what you’d like! You can also donate and receive your drabble anonymously. I will not post your name or tag you in the post.

Title: Rain Check Pairing: Female Inquisitor x Sebastian Vael, Female Trevelyan x Sebastian Vael Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Modern Thedas, Date Night, Making Out, Kissing, Nudity, Sexy Times, Coitus Interruptus Available on AO3

Kass tried not to complain about their hectic schedules. Being busy was a good thing. She loved the whirl of her life. She loved dashing out the door in the morning with just enough time to stop and get her favorite latte from the hipster coffee shop down the street. Loved her morning ride on the subway that allowed her to read her book, listen to music, or just people watch. She adored the brisk walk down the Drakon River before arriving at the impressive Thedas News Network building. 

After a dizzying day of work, there were always a hundred other things to do. Happy hours with coworkers. Cocktail parties. Girl’s nights. Late nights researching her stories until her eyes ached. 

Her life moved a million miles a minute, but so did Sebastian’s. He wasn’t a partner in the law firm, yet, but you’d never know it by the way he worked. He was always on a big case, always in the courtroom, always at the office doing just ‘one last thing before I come home, mo chridhe.’ 

She loved when he called her mo chridhe. She didn’t love when he stayed so late at the office he just slept there. 

Which was the point of this evening, really. A well-deserved evening just for them. It had gone beautifully. An Orlesian play that honestly didn’t make much sense to her, but had its moments, followed by an exquisite dinner and a few too many glasses of wine, capping off with them waiting for their uber in front of the restaurant. 

Kass leaned into the warmth of Sebastian’s arm around her waist. The chill in the air heralded fall, but Kass didn’t mind. Particularly not with Sebastian to make sure she didn’t freeze in her pretty, impractical outfit. 

“I meant it, love.” His thumb rubbed a small circle on the dip of her waist. “You can have my coat.” 

She snuck a glance down at her phone, shaking her head and pointing at the blue dot. “Our ride’s just about…” 

Before she could finish, the sleek black town car turned the corner. She shot a triumphant smile up at Sebastian. “Here!” 

She checked the license plate matched before she jumped in the back seat just like the internet said to, but the moment she landed in the plush, warm interior she couldn’t have cared less where the car went. 

Not when Sebastian’s hand pressed softly just above her knee and his soft voice confirmed the address with the driver before the vehicle smoothly sped away from the curb. 

Maybe it was the wine, but all she could think of were his large hands pushing her skirt up her thighs right there in the back seat. She bit her lip, debated telling him, just to see the scandalized yet interested gleam in his eyes. 

“I know that look, mo chridhe. You are up to something.” 

She slid closer to him, pressing their thighs together, and looked up from beneath her lashes. “Just about what we can do when we get home.” 

Heated understanding flashed in his eyes. One strong arm pulled her even closer, his smile crinkling with fondness. 

“Aye. Why don’t we start now?” 

Well he didn’t have to ask her twice. She tipped her chin up, dazzling him with the smile she was famous for. 

“What are you waiting for then?” 

She barely got the last word out before his broad hand tangled in her dark hair. He pulled her flush to his chest, driver forgotten, plundering her mouth with his skilled tongue. She almost purred under his greedy mouth, meeting his passionate embrace with her own. His auburn hair was shorter, but her fingers still got a solid fistful. 

His other hand traced down her body, underneath her thin jacket, teasing the silk blouse. She could feel the heat of his touch and it made her shiver.

He nipped her lip sweetly and she gasped, eyes fluttering open to take in his bright, sapphire gaze sparkling in the street lights.

The driver coughed far too loudly. “Just about there.” 

Thank Andraste herself. 

It was the most perfunctory way she had ever exited an uber. She barely flashed a smile at the driver before she was dashing for the door to their apartment building. She ran to the elevator door, pressing the button. 

Before it even lit up neon, Sebastian was on her. 

He pressed her back into the door, capturing her  surprised hum of delight. Her fists clenched in his shirt, wrinkling the fine fabric. 

He kissed her like a man possessed. Kissed her like he’d found salvation. Kissed her as if he longed to worship her and her alone. 

The doors opened and they tumbled in. Sebastian looked back and pressed a button with a curse, just as Kass’s phone began to ring. She fished it out of her purse, saw the office number on the caller ID, and hit silence. 

“Who is it?” Sebastian asked. 

“Nobody important.” She chirped, sliding back into his arms. “Where were we?”

Kass didn’t know how they got into the apartment. All she knew, for sure, was that she was back against their front door as soon as they shut it behind them. Sebastian’s lips found the tender skin of her neck. She whimpered as he sucked on her pulse, his fingers inching her shirt up. 

“Such a pretty lass.” He rumbled, brogue thickening. “I cannae wait to…” 

Her phone rang again. He looked at her and she shook her head, desperate. “Ignore it.” 

He did exactly as she asked. Her shirt went flying and she began to undo the buttons on his, scratching her nails down the mouthwatering muscles she revealed and glorious tawny skin that made desire bloom in her stomach. She dropped her lips to press greedy kisses down his shoulders, his collar bones. 

Broad hands ran up her back, making her shiver and press wantonly against the hard planes of his body. She slipped the shirt off his shoulders at the same time he unclasped her bra. 

Her phone rang, shrilly, and they both pulled away from each other. Sebastian raised an eyebrow and she cursed like a sailor, streaking to her abandoned jacket and grabbing the device from the pocket.

“What?” She snapped when she brought it to her ear, listening to Sebastian’s quiet chuckle. 

He stopped laughing as her face grew serious, watching her react to the urgent news.

“Right.” Kass was all business, grimacing apologetically at Sebastian. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Don’t you dare let Teagan take this story. He’ll butcher it.” 

Sebastian rubbed his face briskly as she hung up the phone. She slipped to his side, cupping his jaw sweetly.

“I’ll take a rain check.” She promised, kissing his cheek.

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you @enigmalea for letting me write your amaaaazing Varric/Josephine prompt (also for playing into my loves during commission time. I APPRECIATE YOU.) 

Do you want your own fluffy and/or smutty drabble? I’m still accepting donations through Ko-fi for RAINN! I met my goal BUT you can still donate there and hit me up anywhere to let me know what you’d like! You can also donate and receive your drabble anonymously. I will not post your name or tag you in the post.

Title: An Accidental Courtship Pairing: Josephine Montilyet x Varric Tethras Rating: Teen Content Warnings: Post DA Trespasser DLC, Flirting, Courtship, Intrigue, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending

There were precious few things about Antiva worth the blighted voyage Varric suffered.

Sea-faring, at the best of times, was not his mug of ale. No matter what Rivaini said, there were few advantages to a glorified wash basin bobbing along for days with absolutely nothing but miles of nothing to look at. 

At the worst of times? His rickety ship found itself tossed between waves the size of blighted dragons, lost in storms, drowning in rain, and every meal tasted like salt water that leaked into the termite infested pile of driftwood. Sure, it was probably better than swimming from Kirkwall, but not by much. 

Just to get to Antiva and deal with the human equivalent of the blighted Merchant’s Guild, the Antivan Merchant Princes. All the fun backstabbing politics of dwarves with the added flair, drama, and egos of Antivans. 

It was enough to make him wish his ship had sunk to the bottom of the Waking Sea. 

There was really only one bright spot to the whole trip, and she was the only reason he hadn’t abandoned the whole treaty on the spot. Kirkwall, and it’s Viscount, owed a debt of gratitude to the Lady Montilyet. He didn’t know what he’d have done without her.

That thought brought a complicated pang of grief with it. One that made him look up from the semi-final version of his treaty to take in the woman seated across from him. She’d grown lovelier in the years since the Inquisition, which seemed quite unfair when he seemed to just get older. Her dark hair spilled loose over her shoulders like ink, copper skin shimmering in the sunlight from the windows. She tapped her quill thoughtfully against her lips as she read. 

Varric harbored thoughts about those lips. Roguish thoughts not fit for his dear lady to hear, although if he’d been a younger man, he may have risked it. He risked much more for much less, after all. 

His eyes flicked to the crossbow in the corner ruefully, then back down to the papers he held. 

In truth, there’d be things to be missed in Antiva. The docks lacked that week-old fish odor so common in Kirkwall. The food tended to be far more flavorful. There were less people he knew here, always a plus when he knew such boring people. 

And, most importantly, Josephine. 

Varric dared another glance above his papers just in time to see Josephine’s forehead wrinkle in a matter that could best be described as adorable. Charming, in fact. She was certainly a sight for sore eyes, draped in a delicate silver dress accented with hundreds of dangling, shimmering bits. 

Ripe for the picking by any clever thief. And, Viscount or no, he was still a remarkably clever thief. 

“Ruffles, you look like I need a drink.” 

Josephine’s lips quirked up in an immediate smile the second he opened his mouth. She looked at him through the sweep of her dark lashes. 

“It is tiring, isn’t it?” 

“Tiring is one word for it.” A far more polite word than he would have used. Varric tossed his own stack down, smirking. “What do you want to do for dinner today?” 

He’d taken her out on the town almost every evening since he’d sailed into Antiva City. The first night had been a chance to catch up, talking about old times, gossiping about old friends. 

The second night had been all business. He needed her help to figure out how to cut through the bullshit he’d landed himself in, and who else could he trust?

Every subsequent night got a little less about business and more about hearing Josephine’s delightful observations. He’d always known she was clever and just the right amount of ruthless, but he’d never gotten the opportunity to bask in her glow so completely. The frantic years of the Inquisition’s existence was too full of holes in the skies and demons to appreciate the finer things.

Like beautiful, intelligent women that harbored no secret, doomed angst. 

“A distraction sounds most welcome.” Josephine settled her own papers down, leaning forward. The dress she wore dipped in the front and Varric couldn’t help but look. He felt vaguely disappointed that the neckline was still far too modest. 

“Anywhere you wanna go, beautiful?” The endearment slipped out, but if Josephine found it improper, she didn’t say.  Instead, her eyes sparkled and she dipped her chin, the picture of a demure noblewoman. 

“Perhaps an evening stroll on the docks? It is a lovely night.” 

“And you’re certainly dressed to impress. Maybe we can find you a handsome young bachelor to introduce yourself to.” 

Josephine lifted her dark eyes, the gleam in them almost predatory. “Why would I bother impressing any other bachelors but the one courting me?” 

Varric returned her small smile with one of his own before his mind caught up. He froze, but Josephine had already stood in a flurry of fine silk. 

“There is a cafe that makes this drink, it’s the same one Bull used to favor, with a dollop of fresh cream on top and the prettiest cakes. I’ve been longing to try it.” 

He couldn’t have heard her right. His hearing was finally going. “Sounds very romantic, Ruffles.” 

“I knew it would be perfect for us.” Josephine gushed. “I appreciate your… gentlemanly manner. But I was hoping the atmosphere would inspire you. Yvette swears it works wonders on her suitors.” 

Suitors. 

Well, Maker take him. He was courting Josephine Monitiliyet, who apparently had only one complaint about the whole situation. 

“Your family doesn’t mind you out and about with the most disreputable scoundrel ever elected Viscount?” He asked, just to be sure. He was too old for forbidden romances and cloak and dagger assignations. He certainly wasn’t dragging poor sweet Ruffles along for the ride just cause he was harboring some dangerous fantasies about the way she moved like a dancer waiting for a partner to whirl her away. 

“What objection could they have?” Josephine asked. “You are respectable, my lord.” 

She was teasing him. He’d never been so thrilled in his life. He stood from his seat, offering his arm to Josephine. 

“One last thing, beautiful.” 

“Yes?” 

Varric threw one arm around the soft curve of her waist and pulled her to him, tipping his chin up. 

“How about I claim that kiss now?”

[sinsbymanka]

AHHH!!

You’re all AWESOME. 

Today I exceeded $100 in donations for RAINN. Seventeen people have come together to donate and help me achieve this and I’m so grateful for all of you!

I’m closing the commissions today. I have seven people still waiting for their commissions, so once I finish up the final one I will donate the money sitting in my account to RAINN and post a snapshot here so we can all see our impact!

If you’re waiting for a commission: you should have a link to my Trello board showing how I’m progressing. If you do not, please hit me up and let me know I missed you! I’m hoping to have the final seven done in the next two weeks or so!

If you want to see the series of Charity Commissions, please go here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913077 

Warning: It’s a lot of smut. Proceed at your own risk!

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you so much @fairfaxleasee for donating! I loved the opportunity to write some FenHawke (I do love a good FenHawke, the ANGST in this pairing I swear) and their trusty mabari!

I’m not longer accepting RAINN Commissions but you can see the ones that are already finished in this series on AO3. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Title: Ghosts on the Run Pairing: Fenris x Female Hawle Rating: T Content Warnings: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sided with Templars, Established Relationship, Post-Dragon Age II, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nail Biting, Skin Scratching Read on AO3

The room they paid too much coin for smelled like overcooked cabbage and wet dog. Rain still clung to the mabari’s fur, still soaked almost all the clothing they were attempting to dry in front of the pitiful fire.

It was a far cry from the Viscount’s Keep, in fact it seemed a world away. And yet, Fenris knew they were not far enough away for safety. The hair at the back of his neck prickled, he fought the urge to pace in front of the door.

Anders. If he followed the bitter trail of his thoughts, it started with Anders. His constant agitation, his lies, his path of vengeance that consumed so many lives before his own finally ended in blood spilt on the cobblestones.

Except of course, it was not so simple. It was, indeed, Anders. It also was the Qunari that murdered the Viscount. It was Meredith finally succumbing to madness from the red lyrium they’d pulled from the deep roads.

Kirkwall, in the end, took everything Cassia Hawke put into it and spat her back out. Fenris should have insisted they left the moment they put the Viscount’s crown on Cass’s head rather than wait for the inevitable storm that waited in the wings. Kirkwall had a bloody history, particularly in regards to its rulers, but it had been his home too.

The only home he remembered. The only home he wished to remember.

Cass implemented reforms to ensure safety, fairness, and to prevent spilling more blood. The battle for the Gallows had been vicious and decimated Mages, Templars, and the civilians trapped between them. Kirkwall could ill afford to lose more lives, but the Templars resisted. For that reason, Fenris was not surprised when they received word the Seekers were coming.

And he could not lose Cass. Would not lose her. Kirkwall could have everything it had taken. It could not have Cass. He would not allow it.

Fenris forced himself to bolt the door and turn his back to it. His eyes darted quickly to the bed. Squall splayed unapologetically across the entire mattress, leaving precious little room for Cass. She took up a mere sliver of the mattress without complaint, gaze locked on the fireplace in silence.

Fenris glared at the mabari, who lifted his large snout in response. Fenris lifted an eyebrow and inclined his head to the floor pointedly. Squall tipped his head in the opposite direction, lifting his head from the quilt.

Fenris sighed. He clutched his hand into a fist behind his back before raising it above his head. He felt ridiculous, but it worked like a charm immediately. Squall’s ears perked up and he watched while Fenris pitched an imaginary object on the other side of the room.

The second the dog abandoned the bed, Fenris hurried to claim a spot next to Cass. He sank down onto the lumpy mattress beside her, watching closely. She lifted her fingers to her lips, chewing at the nails and skin surrounding them before a slight tremor rocked her shoulders. Fenris tore his own hand through his hair in aggravation before hissing out a breath through his teeth.

He did not know what to say. He never knew what to say.

“I’m sorry.”

He almost missed the whisper against her fingers, punctuated by an aggrieved noise from Squall himself, who had clearly realized the deception Fenris had played. Fenris ignored the whine to focus on Cass instead, gently pulling her hand from her mouth.

He held her hand for a moment before slowly dropping and moving to smooth the frazzled auburn curls of his lover. He swallowed, pondering his words carefully, before he asked his question.

“What have you done?”

Fenris waited in the silence until she spoke again, the rage and hurt swimming beneath her words.

“I should never have been Viscount. I wasn’t qualified. We knew I’d be shit at it. Now Varric has to clean up my mess.”

“It is what he excels at.” Fenris offered.

“You’re on the run.” Cass sniffed. Her shoulders shook with a barely contained sob. “Again.”

And yet, it did not feel the same. The fear of being hunted was familiar, but the warmth in his heart, the strength of his will…

That was new, and it was worth all of it.

“I am with you.” Fenris smoothed her hair from her temple, tracing the skin there with one finger. “I am where I wish to be. Do not doubt it.”

“You said the room smells like day old stew.”

He chuckled. “It is not an untrue statement, Cass.”

It still felt unbelievable to draw her closer, still felt awkward to wrap his arms around her and hold her to his chest. As if this was simply a trick of the fade and she may vanish.

Instead, she rested her cheek against his shoulder.

“Do you regret it?” She whispered.

“You are the most wonderful and important thing that has ever happened to me.” He answered. “Do not doubt it for a moment.”

For a moment, the only answer was silence. The faint pop of the fire. Squall’s panting in the background. Cass raised her arms and he feared she’d scratch at her neck until she made the skin raw, like she did sometimes, but instead she simply wrapped them around him in return.

Her entire frame shook with a silent, wrenching sob. Then another. Fenris held her as they came, faster and more furious, while she clung to him. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. Eventually the shaking became tremors until she grew still. Tears soaked his shoulder, but her breath came easily, heavy with sleep.

Slowly, he lowered her back onto the mattress, tucking a curl from her cheek.

Perhaps they were on the run, but they were free and they were together. Fenris would not take either of those things for granted.

[sinsbymanka]

I finished this fic today even though I wasn’t sure I was! A nice little gift for @tightassets featuring her Shepard!

Title: Interspecies Relationships Have Their Ups and Downs Chapters: 1/1 Words: 1,830 Ship: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian Rating: E Additional Tags: Established Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mass Effect 1, Friends With Benefits,  Shameless Smut, Semi-Public Smut, Elevator Smut Summary: “Now, now, Shepard.” Garrus tugs her pants down. Slowly. “You know how interspecies relationships have their ups and downs.” 

“Is that why we’re fucking in an elevator?” 

 His laughter is bright and full of joy. It makes her forget, for a moment, all about Saren, the Reapers, and the Council.

“Exactly,” he murmurs, his mouth just above her thundering pulse.

Read on AO3

[sinsbymanka]

And we have our first place giveaway winner! Thank you @kourvo for being amazing to work with and thank you to @lethendralis-paints for introducing us! <3 

Title: A Bone to Pick Chapter: 1/1 Pairing: Hawke/Fenris (no gender or pronouns so all of them or none of them your pick!)   Rating: T Warnings:  Graphic Depictions of Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 4,998 Summary: Fenris and Hawke's night together took a turn for the worse that leaves Fenris reeling and uncertain of his place at Hawke's side. Hawke and the gang make sure he knows he's wanted no matter what.

Read on AO3!

Fenris woke with a hammering heart and the taste of blood in his mouth.

It spurred him into movement without a second thought. He rolled from the lumpy mattress and to his feet and scooped the blade from where it leaned against the wall. His eyes scanned every dark corner for hidden danger.

The realization he had been tricked by sleep and the Fade into acting like a fool upon waking left a sour taste on his tongue. He placed the blade back where he found it, closing his eyes and focusing on the cold air filling his lungs.

The dream lingered in disturbing fragments that couldn’t be twisted into a cohesive story. He was left, as always, with disjointed images that made little sense. He recalled crimson blood swirling in muddy water, a picture that bled into a room with stars painted on the ceiling where screams rang across the elaborate tile, before the denouement where Fenris ran.

He ran, and ran, and ran.

And yet, he never escaped. Something always caught him with grasping claws or silky hands and dragged him into the shadows. He was helpless to change the story, no matter how he tried.

A foolish notion. All of it.

After all, he stood in his old master’s mansion among expensive items left behind when Fenris murdered the men sent to snatch him back. When he opened his eyes, the clutter of Fenris’ life surrounded him, mixed with the priceless objects of art he had not yet sold or broken. His blade, his armor, his coin purse, a stack of creamy parchment he feared to mar with the jewel-black ink beside it, borrowed and bought and stolen books, and-

Fenris’ eyes lit on a bright slash of crimson next to the books and his stomach flipped.

Hawke’s scarf.

Instantly, the nightmare was forgotten, swallowed by the abyss of regret and guilt chewing at everything inside of him.

Hawke.

Fenris was a fool, one who’d shattered the heart of one of the few people who showed him nothing but kindness and understanding. In his wild attempts to flee his past, he ruined the small happiness he found here, and he couldn’t blame anyone else for it.

“Fenris, we can talk about it. I’m here for you. You don’t have to leave.”

“I am sorry. I should never have come here. It was a mistake.”

Fenris felt ill. How long had it been since he left the Amell Estate in the middle of the night like a thief with nothing but the sound of Hawke’s cracking voice echoing in his ears? He made it the whole way back to his stolen manor and shut the door behind him before he looked down and saw that red scarf clutched tightly in his gauntleted fist.

He had not left the manor since, he had no reason to. Where was he to go, now that he would no longer be welcome in Hawke’s merry band of misfits? In truth, his only option was to leave Kirkwall behind and start over elsewhere.

Running. Again.

It tasted bitter for more than one reason.

[sinsbymanka]

Literally cannot believe you're all calling me out on this WIP Walk of Shame Meme. Thank you for the tags @thevikingwoman @morganlefaye79 @starsandskies and @ashalle-art. I hope you're happy with what you've unleashed.

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I'll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it. And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

A Problematic Person and Controversial Captive

Blood from a Stone

Crossbows Have Their Drawbacks or the Romancing of Varric Tethras

Demands of the Qun Exchange

Depths of Desire Saga

Divinity 2 Dwarf Smut

Gambits & Countergambits

Girl with the Arrow Tattoo

Manka Writes Friend Fiction 2021

Mass Effect Stuff

Poetry & Prose 2021

Solamancy Zine Fic

The Ballad of Briar Boondiggles

Blacksmiths Don't Need Bards and Other Lies My Family Told Me

I'm going to tag forward to: @jarakrisafis @blarfkey @noire-pandora @itscadashing @dismalzelenka @kaiju--burgers @hollyand-writes @coryfirelion @natsora @varric-tethras-editor @kirstinetheartist @hobo-apostate @tuffypelly @barbex

[sinsbymanka]

There will always be disagreements. And we, as individuals, always have to look at the motives of the people involved and make judgements about what they're thinking, what they feel, and what they believe. If you have any doubts about what I stand for, let me tell you now:

I believe that people should be given the chance to learn from their mistakes in private before being exposed to the mob.

I believe that it is easy to forget "popular" creators are still people instead of creation machines. I think we all need reminded that those real people are, as always, more important than the fictional characters they're portraying.

I think that if you see someone being the target of a whisper campaign, harassment, or terms that make them feel unsafe in their space, you should speak up to defend them.

I think dialogue performed on social media platforms such as tumblr and twitter is, at best, performative. Real change is harder than lambasting the latest mistake we feel someone has made.

I think, ultimately, fandom should be fun and relaxing. If anyone makes you feel unsafe, the block and unfollow button are your best friend.

And finally, if you have a genuine concern about something, bring it to the creator in question, and are shut down I am just as willing to stand up for you as I would be the creator who's being harassed. I've just not seen that actually happen in awhile which brings me to my last belief:

I believe people are good at heart. I believe that we are here to support each other and our creations. I believe that while negative emotions such as jealousy and anger naturally occur, most people can resolve them without hurting others.

I'm still here - and I always will be ❤

- Manka